Saturday night. 4 am. The sun is just starting to rise and the sky is that dusty heather gray color. NYC looks just like they try to portray it in the movies – a sleeping giant with steep buildings, daring the sun to challenge its dominance.

And I’m bleary eyed, mascara stained, just sobbing. I’m in my pjs. The beautiful, sparkly dress and heels I wore that evening, crumpled in a pile on the floor — along with my dignity.

Pause. NO I did not “do it.”Although, reading that back, it kinda sounds like the beginning of a cheap romance novel…